


Rooms

by sjhw_tolerance (mscorkill)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 00:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mscorkill/pseuds/sjhw_tolerance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just your typical day on Atlantis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rooms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Stages of Love: Rooms; originally posted June 2006.

**THE BRIEFING**

John doodles on his pad, while attempting to look interested, and frowns when his pencil lead suddenly breaks—and he hopes no one else notices. He glances quickly around the spacious room. Evidently no one does…except Teyla, the slight twitch of her lips as she continues to look seriously at McKay (and still somehow manages to ignore him) tips him off. John sets his useless pencil down and sits back in the one of the comfortable chairs around the large table in the briefing room and wonders what goes through Teyla’s mind during these meetings. 

Sometimes she’s easy to read, usually when they’re discussing a world to visit or even one that she’s visited; her face animated and her eyes bright; offering comments, tidbits of information, her opinion valued and seriously considered, given that they are all but strangers in this galaxy called Pegasus. But then there are other times, when even he can barely maintain an interest, like now…with McKay droning on and on about quantum’s and wormholes and string theory. And god help them all, but Zelenka is present too, adding the odd comment or two in his accented English. 

Ignoring the two scientists, he continues to concentrate on Teyla. She’s sitting next to him and he studies her face in profile. The gentle curve of her cheek, the way her hair curls lazily around her ear and lays across her long neck, the slight smile and way she looks down briefly, disguising her amusement, when McKay gives a derisive snort at some comment from Zelenka. John smirks then too and notices that Elizabeth tries to hide her amusement as well—much like Teyla. While Zelenka, John can tell, barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

It’s not long then, before the briefing is over. They’ll take a jumper and launch a probe into the anomaly, dire warnings from Radek mixing with equal reassurances from McKay that the Czech scientist is merely over-reacting. John catches Teyla’s eye and shrugs, nothing new or unusual; just another day and another briefing in Atlantis. 

Elizabeth nods regally, signaling their dismissal. Zelenka and McKay depart almost simultaneously, squabbling like warring siblings as they leave the briefing room. Ronon heaves a long suffering sigh before he too, departs. Elizabeth is engrossed in whatever’s on her laptop, so as Teyla slowly rises, John does as well. 

He falls into step beside her, hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers. “So,” he says casually, “how about some lunch?” It’s almost noon, the briefing lasting longer than even he expected. 

She looks at him and smiles. “I could use some sustenance.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he says, steering her down the staircase that leads to the dining hall. “It gives me a headache too.” When she slants him a questioning look from under her lashes he grins. “Low blood sugar.”

“Ah,” she murmurs, as if she understands. And as John follows her into the crowded dining hall and falls into line, he decides that maybe she does. 

 

**FIVE SERVINGS A DAY**

Teyla isn’t sure she’ll ever get used to the wide variety of food served in the cafeteria which is even more overwhelming now, since the return of the Daedalus. The daily diet of the average Athosian is well-balanced and nutritious, she reminds herself and she knows it’s true, having learned that fact from Doctor Beckett. But when compared to the fare offered on Atlantis, the limited variety of meats, breads, vegetables and fruits on the mainland seem simple and dull. Granted, there are those among her people who have the knowledge of herbs and other plant life that bring unexpected flavor to what is cooked, but for the most part they are simple people with simple fare.

Picking up a tray, she slowly slides it along the railing behind Sheppard’s, carefully inspecting the offerings on this particular day. As with most cafeterias, or so Aidan told her back when he was still a member of her team…before he changed, the selections start with salads. She quickly spots her favorite, red gelatin with bits of fruit, called—oddly enough, she thinks for not the first time—fruit cocktail. 

Glancing John’s direction, she notes he has already drifted ahead and currently stands in front of the hot food section. Tim, one of the lunchtime servers, hands him a plate filled with a hamburger and a heaping mound of french fries, his traditional lunchtime fare on Atlantis. She wonders—again not for the first time—how he can eat the same thing over and over when presented with the wondrous variety of color, texture and flavors available every day.

Reaching the hot food—and John—she smiles at Tim. “What is the special today?” 

Tim smiles back at her, waving a serving spoon enticingly over the steaming food. “Today we have fresh brussels sprouts, straight off the Daedalus.” The Colonel makes a gagging sound which she ignores and offers Tim an encouraging smile when he falters. “And…ah…honey-baked ham, scalloped potatoes….” She nods and Tim starts filling a plate.

John snorts and mutters, “You’ll be sorry.”

“Sounds delicious,” she tells Tim, shooting John a glare and accepting the heaping plate of food with the mysterious green brussels sprouts. 

John continues on and she follows, both of them stopping at the beverages. She takes her customary carton of milk while he fills a large glass with water. “Here,” he says, handing her the water. “You’ll need this to wash those green things down with.” 

She glares at him again, but she can’t maintain it for long, especially when he just smirks at her and saunters out into the seating area. He’s already seated at a table with Ronon and Major Lorne by the time she reaches him, all three men absorbed in their food. She sits down and notices, with some pleasure, that both Ronon and Lorne have brussels sprouts on their plates. 

Sitting down, she carefully places her napkin in her lap and picks up her fork, spearing one of the brussels sprouts. John, who has been wolfing down his hamburger, pauses then. Their eyes meet and she smiles defiantly, taking a delicate bite of the small green vegetable—and almost immediately spits it out, her eyes wide. She shudders and wonders how such a benign looking vegetable can taste so bad; she has eaten many different foods on the many worlds she has visited, but she doesn’t believe she has ever tasted anything quite so vile.

Lorne chuckles as she grabs the glass of water, quickly gulping down a large swallow. Ronon grunts and says with his mouth full, “If you’re not going to eat those, I will.” 

Handing her plate to Ronon, who immediately scoops the brussels sprouts onto his plate, her eyes meet Colonel Sheppard’s across the table. He doesn’t say anything, but she can tell by his smug smile exactly what he’s thinking—I told you so. 

 

**POST PRANDIAL BLUES**

By the look in her eye and the way she’s swinging her staffs, John is pretty sure he’s going to get his ass kicked—or be force-fed brussels sprouts. Setting his gym bag down, he watches while Teyla leaps, thrusts and parries her way through her warm-up. John is also certain he can feel the wind rushing by as her sticks swing viciously through the air. He really didn’t think Teyla was one to hold a grudge, especially over something like a bad-tasting vegetable.

He stands and takes a few cautious steps, swinging his staffs slowly and then with increasing speed as he starts his initial warm-up. Teyla doesn’t pause—in fact, she barely acknowledges his presence, which starts to irritate him. It’s just a vegetable, for crying out loud. He finishes his warm-up and isn’t surprised when she pirouettes to a stop in front of him, her skirts swinging around her legs. She still doesn’t say anything, but he knows the routine. 

Facing her, John bows. Teyla’s expression is solemn as she mirrors his actions and then starts moving in the fluid movements that he has learned to imitate. 

“So,” he says, matching his pace to hers, “one night when I was in Afghanistan we were invited to a special dinner at the local magistrate’s house.” A small frown crosses her face but it disappears and is immediately replaced by a look he’s come to recognize. Immediately adjusting his stance, John readies for her attack, gauging the direction it will come by the slight tilt of her head. He’s read her correctly and the initial foray is brief, a small appetizer of the main course yet to come.

John’s breathing is heavier when they break apart—and so is hers. Facing her again, he slowly circles and she follows. “Now most Afghani cuisine is your basic lamb and chicken, maybe the occasional goat.” 

Taking the offensive, John suddenly moves, his sticks flying; the sharp crack of wood hitting wood ringing through the gym. This sortie lasts longer and by the time they break apart, John is starting to feel the burn—while Teyla still looks calm, cool and collected. Or maybe not so cool. He smiles when he sees the slight sheen of sweat glistening on her face, her chest rising and falling with her heavier breathing. He figures it won’t be long now, but he’s not finished with his story though. 

Falling back into the familiar pattern, he continues. “But this is a special occasion, and since we’re honored guests, they went all out and made haleem for us.”

It doesn’t take long, and he feels a surge of triumph when instead of attacking, she softly pants, “What is haleem?” Her voice at once reluctant and curious. 

After months of work-outs with Teyla, John has gotten to know her style and one thing he knows is she isn’t one for small talk during their sessions. He thinks this will be to his advantage today; it isn’t often that he can break her focus. “You know,” he drawls while contemplating his next move, “I’m still not sure. Lamb and chicken I think…tasted a lot like brussels sprouts.”

Her smile is as reluctant as her earlier question and quickly seizing the lapse in concentration, John attacks. She responds fast, but he’s faster and after—at least for him—a shockingly brief scuffle, Teyla falls with a soft thud, her sticks clattering to the floor next to her. 

John stands over her, breathing heavily and feeling more bemused than anything else. He grins down at her and eventually holds out his right hand to her. After a long moment that has him wondering if he’s pushed her too far, she smiles and takes his hand. Pulling her to her feet, he holds her hand for a moment longer than is necessary and tries to ignore the rush of masculine pleasure he feels at his triumph over her. 

Her fingers slide from his and he steps back as she gracefully bends, picking up her dropped sticks. She tilts her head; the hair falling across her face doesn’t quite hide the twinkle in her eyes. “Perhaps next time we should practice before lunch.” 

 

**SEA CHANGE**

Teyla rounds the last corner and starts down the long hallway that leads back to the wing where her living quarters are—and where most of the quarters are located for the inhabitants of Atlantis. She breathes in and out steadily, pacing her strides and her breathing so that both gradually slow the closer she gets to her room. Passing by a juncture that leads out to a balcony and the sea, she feels the rush of the cool, salty breeze and catches the glimpse of a familiar figure. She slows even more and after only a brief hesitation, jogs the short distance that brings her to the sea and to John.

The sun has just disappeared below the horizon, the lights of Atlantis gradually winking on to dispel the encroaching darkness. Teyla joins John, where he leans against the railing, staring out at the slowly darkening water. He smiles briefly when she stands beside him, but remains silent, his eyes focused somewhere out in the darkness…out in the sea. Teyla looks out over the water; the waves wash gently against the pilings, a soothing sound that she has become accustomed to after months of living on Atlantis.

“It is very beautiful, is it not?” she murmurs.

“Yeah…but sometimes I miss the mountains.”

“There are mountains on the mainland,” she reminds him.

He glances at her and shrugs, a slight smile touching his lips. “It’s not the same.”

He doesn’t elaborate, instead turning his eyes back to the dark sea and she suddenly understands. He doesn’t miss mountains in general, he misses the mountains on Earth. “Are they very beautiful?” she asks.

“There’s nothing like the Rockies; rugged, jagged granite peaks, reaching to the sky and covered with snow.”

She nods in understanding. As nice as the mainland of Atlantis is, she sometimes longs for the familiar valleys and fields of Athos. But she misses other things as well, her friends and those she considers family. John has never spoken of any family, at least not to her, and she wonders if he misses them—or if they miss him. “Is it just the mountains you miss?” she asks curiously.

With that uncanny instinct of his, he sees through her question and answers the one she didn’t ask. “My family’s here.” His eyes hold hers for a breathless moment before he smiles tenderly and looks back out over the restless sea. “What about you?” he murmurs, throwing the question back at her.

She knows what he means and she can ignore it, if she chooses. But she made a decision, all those months ago, when she stayed on Atlantis. “I miss my people,” she says. He turns to look at her then, his eyes as dark as the water and what she sees in them gives her the courage to continue. “But my family is here.”

 

**BEING NEIGHBORLY**

As tempting as it is to follow her when she finally murmurs goodnight and leaves him, John doesn’t. Instead he stays where he is, staring out at the gentle swells, the lights of Atlantis casting shadows on the restless water. It’s getting more difficult with every passing day to think of her as just a team-mate, or even worse—as ‘family’. He’s never had lain awake at night, hard and aching, from thoughts of his ‘family’…but he has with thoughts of her.

But he keeps them to himself, the responsibility he feels for her—and all of Atlantis, really—restrains him. He’s never been one to willingly forego the benefits of being with a beautiful woman and living in another galaxy hasn’t hindered his style. But whether she knows it or not, he always comes home to her. He laughs out loud then, the harsh bark of laughter slicing through the night. God, he’s gone all melodramatic, which isn’t his style at all.

The hallways are quiet when he finally leaves the solitude of the balcony; he takes the long way to his quarters, because it will take him past her door. He turns a corner and his gut immediately tightens.

“Goodnight, Teyla.” 

Lorne stands outside her open door. John can’t see her, but he can just hear the soft murmur of her voice and then Lorne chuckles, his amiable face lighting with a smile. “I’ll take that as fair warning.”

The door slides shut, leaving Lorne standing there and John slowly approaches the other man. The rational part of him realizes he has no reason to be jealous of Lorne, or of any man on Atlantis. Teyla treats them all with the same mixture of friendliness and respect as she treats him, so he has no reason to be envious of her relationship with Lorne. But he is.

“Lorne.” John acknowledges the other man. “You’re out late.” He’s fishing and by the brief look that flashes over Lorne’s face, he knows it as well.

Lorne falls into step with him. “I had some books for Teyla.”

John gives him a blank look. Books for Teyla?

“My sister’s a librarian,” Lorne explains. “I asked her to send some books appropriate for someone at a sixth grade reading level.”

“Ah.” It all comes together. Zelenka’s been tutoring Teyla, the Czech showing remarkable patience and aptitude for teaching English. John feels a mild twinge of guilt for his earlier jealousy. If he’s jealous of anything now, he’s jealous that Lorne thought of getting her books instead of him.

“So, what are sixth graders reading these days?” John asks, trying to remember if he actually ever read a book in the sixth grade.

“Evidently The Black Stallion, The Hobbit and Little Women.”

John snorts. The Black Stallion and The Hobbit he can see Teyla reading, but…“Little Women?” 

“Yeah,” Lorne agrees with a grin. “My thoughts exactly.”

**THE END**


End file.
